I promised photographs of Uzbekistan.
Reviewing them, I find a history of Blues. The major monuments–the mosques, the madrasahs, and the mausoleums–assault the eye with overwhelming detail. There is so much diversity of design scattered across the facades, walls, ceilings of the immense buildings that, in a feat of self-protection, the mind stammers and stops finding distinguishing features. The Blues take over, in each stanza repeating the first line three times and then stunning you with an unexpected fourth line. Next stanza, same format, different outcome.